Lead Me On (30 page)

When the glasses were filled, Chance held his up. "To success."

"To brothers-in-law who know how to hire good lawyers," Adrian countered.

"No." Rory smiled. "To Marguerite for bringing us good luck."

"To Marguerite," Allison agreed.

Paige and Bobby, who had dropped by for an impromptu visit and been drawn into the celebration, lifted their glasses as well.

"Congratulations," Paige said. "I know how much this inn means to all of you. I wonder what made John LeRoche change his mind."

"I asked Malcolm that very question," Chance said, referring to their attorney. His gaze flickered toward Allison, then away. "Apparently we have Scott to thank as well."

Allison went still at the mention of his name. The mood in the room dimmed as everyone glanced at her. "It's okay." She forced a smile, tired of people walking on eggshells around her. "I can handle talking about him."

Nothing could be further from the truth. Just the sound of his name tore at her heart.

"Well," Chance said cautiously, "when it was over, Malcolm chatted a bit with the opposition, hoping he could wheedle out some hint of what made John cave so unexpectedly. The other attorney, who's dropping LeRoche Enterprises from their client list, by the way, came right out and told him Scott called several times last month, carrying on a heated argument with his father through the law firm."

"He passes messages to his father through an attorney?" Rory asked, clearly stunned while Allison digested the news that Scott had been making these calls while staying at the inn. At least that explained why he frequently closed the door to the office while on the phone.

"Apparently that's the only way they've communicated for the past ten years," Chance explained. "This particular argument ended when Scott threatened to cause a public relations nightmare for LeRoche Enterprises by depicting the shipping company as environmental rapists in one of his books if John didn't settle favorably with us. John threatened to sue him if he did. So for the past month, John's lawyers have been convincing him that with the financial problems he's been having lately he was better off losing the suit to us now than risking bankruptcy down the road."

Allison stared at the counter, remembering how she'd accused Scott of spying on them to help John win the house back. But the opposite was true. He'd been fighting for them, choosing them over his own family.

Hope tried to open her heart, but past pain slammed it closed. If only he'd been honest sooner ... She understood the initial deception, but not how long he'd let it continue.

Adrian draped his arm over her shoulder in a reassuring hug. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." She summoned a smile and lifted her glass. "I suppose we should make one more toast. To Scott Lawrence, for proving that the pen really is mightier than the sword."

"To Scott," the others echoed awkwardly and drank.

Lauren began to fuss from her carrier on the sofa and Rory went to check on her. The others followed and talk turned to the bungalows they could now build with the money from the settlement. Rory, as usual, had big plans and visions for turning the island into a full resort, not just a place to stay while visiting Galveston, but a destination in and of itself. For once, Chance didn't play devil's advocate. He just watched his wife with the bemused expression he sometimes got, as if he'd been hit by a happy truck.

Allison sat slightly apart from the others, struggling with confusion. For weeks, she'd been devastated by the pain of Scott's betrayal. Yet, beneath the shock, the longing remained, pulling her under until she feared she'd drown in sorrow. She missed him, dammit. She missed Scott Lawrence.

But she missed a man who wasn't real.

Or was he?

If only she knew what to think.

Enough
, she told herself with a little shake. Nothing changed the fact that he'd continued to lie even when he learned how she felt about such things. She could never bring herself to trust him now.

But was that really why she'd sent him away? Or had she jumped on the first excuse to play the coward?

Whatever the answer, it was done and she needed to get on with her life—a life that would now be filled with the security she'd always wanted. She should be happy.

Turning her attention back to Rory, who sat on the sofa bouncing Lauren on her shoulder with Chance at her side, she felt only the gaping hole of emptiness inside her. For one brief, shining moment, she'd thought she had the opportunity for that with Scott. She thought she'd found something worth risking her heart, risking hurt, risking everything.

Needing a little space to herself, she headed for her bedroom on the pretext of working on her bridesmaid dress. Rory's wedding was a ways off, but working on the plans gave her something to think about other than Scott.

Rather than go for a full bridal gown confection, complete with acres of gauzy net, Rory had wanted something more personal and understated. So Alli had gone with her over to the Bouchard cottage and hauled down boxes from the attic. Together they'd picked out two of their grandmother's dresses from the 1920s. For Rory they'd selected a tea-length gown made of dusky pink silk covered in ecru lace. For Alli they'd picked a lavender dress in a similar drop-waist style, but without the lace.

Lifting the lavender gown off the end of her bed, she took a seat in the chair beneath the window with Sadie curled up at her feet. She'd barely taken a stitch on altering the hem when Paige knocked on the frame of the open door. "May I come in?"

"Of course."

Paige came forward and sat on the end of the bed, her expression earnest. "I've been needing to talk to you all evening."

"Oh?" Allison frowned.

"The whole reason Bobby and I came over is because"—she bit her lip—"Scott called me today."

Alli's stomach fell. To hear his name had been a shock, but to hear that he'd actually spoken with someone in her intimate circle had all the longing she'd tried to suppress welling up inside her. "What did he say?"

"He wanted to talk to me about Jackie Taylor, but he also asked if I'd deliver a message. He has the diaries you're looking for and claims he didn't even realize it until he talked to his agent yesterday."

"And?" she said, anger and hope playing tug-of-war.

"He said you could come pick them up anytime."

"Pick them up?" Allison gaped as anger won. "What—he thinks I'm going to drive to New Orleans to pick up property he stole from me?"

"Actually ..." Paige's eyes held sympathy. "He's here in Galveston. At his family's beach house."

Scott was in Galveston? Her heart raced at the thought. She stared blindly into space as she realized that with a five-minute drive, she could see him, talk to him. Five minutes.

"Alli, he sounded so miserable. He asked how you were, and I could tell he's hurting as much as you are. Maybe you should go see him."

"No!" She jerked her attention back to Paige. "That would only make things worse." If she saw him, she'd start wanting him again on so many levels, physically, emotionally. She shook her head. "Definitely not. The situation is hopeless."

"Why? Because your families don't like each other? Trust me, I know all about having your family disapprove of who you love. Although I think your family is more willing to accept him than you realize."

"They were willing before—" She closed her eyes against temptation. "Paige, he lied to me. Lied!"

"People do that on occasion. Sometimes because they think they have to, other times because they're lying to themselves as well. Look, I don't know what all happened between you two, but I do know when I see two people who are crazy in love with each other. The two of you were good together. You made each other happy. Surely everything else is incidental."

Oh God, how she wanted that to be true. How she wanted a chance to work things out; for the Scott she'd fallen in love with to be real. She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears. "I don't know."

"Go see him, Alli. Talk to him."

The thought made her ache with yearning. Did she dare risk it? Could she handle seeing him again? "I'll think about it."

Scott heard the doorbell and lifted his head in surprise. The movement sent the air mattress rocking beneath him. Squinting against the sunlight, he wondered if Allison had finally built up the courage to face him. Several days had passed since he'd spoken to Paige, but the prickly feeling on his neck told him it was Allison at the door.

Great, he thought. She would pick a day when he felt like hell from too much work and not enough sleep. Of course, that described all his days lately—which was why he'd been trying to relax in the pool.

To wash off the sheen of sweat, he dove underwater and glided to the edge. Water sloshed off his body as he hoisted himself up. He gave his skin a brisk rubdown with the towel and grabbed his shirt. If only he had five minutes to make himself presentable, he thought as he padded barefoot through the air-conditioned house. In the white marble foyer, he stopped, took a breath, and rolled his head to loosen his shoulders.

It didn't help. The instant he opened the door and saw her standing there, his gut tightened with a shock of need. She wore a sleeveless sunshine-yellow dress and stood with her arms crossed as she stared at the ground. She looked up and his heart tumbled into her clear gray eyes framed in dark lashes.

"Allison," he greeted her in a remarkably calm voice.

Her eyes widened a bit as she took in his open shirt and wet swim trunks. Then she frowned when she noticed that his hair had grown longer and he'd shaved off his beard a couple days ago. Of course, he hadn't bothered shaving since, so he assumed he looked as ragged as he felt. "It's good to see you."

She looked away. "I came for the diaries." Her utterly flat voice killed any hope that she'd come to work things out.

What had he expected, though? For her to throw herself into his arms and beg him to forgive her for kicking him out of her life without letting him explain?

"Of course. Come in." He stepped back. She hesitated, and he gritted his teeth against a surge of anger. "You know, it won't kill you to breathe the same air as me for a few minutes."

Her chin went up as she stepped inside. Without a word, he led her to the great room at the back of the house with its soaring, two-story windows and all-white decor. The room reflected his mother's taste, which ran toward the expensive, sleek, and utterly cold.

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No." Her posture remained rigid.

He ground his teeth against the urge to curse and shake her, or beg her to talk to him. Instead, he let out a sigh. "Wait here. I'll get them."

Leaving her standing in the middle of the room, he went upstairs where he took a minute to slip on a pair of dry shorts, then grabbed the canvas bag. When he stepped back onto the open metal landing that overlooked the great room, he stopped for a moment, struck by the sight of her. She stood in her simple yellow dress with her back to him, gazing out the wall of glass at the swimming pool and beach beyond. She was the only spot of warm color in the room.

God, he missed her. And even knowing it was hopeless, he still wanted her.

She turned as he headed down the stairs, and for a fraction of a second, he thought he saw a reflection of his own longing in her eyes. He'd wondered many times what he'd say if this moment ever came. Words had always been his ally, but they abandoned him now when he needed them most.

Crossing to her, he held out the bag. "I assume Paige explained I took them by accident"

"Yes." When she opened the bag to glance inside, he saw her hands tremble. "I shouldn't have accused you the way I did. I'm sorry."

The apology renewed that spark of hope, dammit. Was there anything more painful in life than hope? "Allison, do you think we could sit down and talk for just a minute?"

"I ... I can't" Tension radiated from her body as she clasped the bag to her chest. "I need to go."

"Do you hate me so much you can't even sit and talk this out?"

"I don't hate you." She pressed a hand over her eyes. "I wish I did. Oh God, I wish I did. If only I could hate you, I'd quit wondering if it might have worked." A ragged sob escaped her. "I have to go."

She turned to flee, but he grabbed her arm. "Allison, wait."

"No! Please ..." She bit her lip to regain control. Seeing him again was so much harder than she'd imagined. "Please don't touch me. I can't stand it."

"Why not? If you don't hate me—"

"Because I still want you." She turned back, drinking in the sight of him standing there with his damp black hair and black beard stubble. He'd never looked more desirable. "I don't even know who you are, but I remember the illusion and I want it to be true. I want you to be Scott Lawrence and in love with me. Why can't you be who I thought you were?"

"I am Scott Lawrence," he said with quiet force. "And I never lied about loving you."

She searched his face, wanting desperately for the

words to be true. "I wish I could believe you."

"I love you, Allison." He cupped her face and stared into her eyes as if willing her to believe. "Dammit, I love you so much, it's ripping me apart."

She shook her head as tears tumbled down her cheeks.

"Please believe me." He pressed his forehead to hers. "I am Scott Lawrence, and I love you with everything that's inside of me.
I love you
."

A sob went through her as she circled her free arm around his neck. His lips moved over her face until his mouth covered hers. Desire rushed through her as she kissed him back, welcoming his taste. The need to touch him one last time outweighed reason. She pushed his shirt aside to run her hands over his sun-heated flesh and taut muscles.

"I want you so much," she cried against his chest. "I can't stop wanting you."

"You don't have to stop." He took the canvas bag from her, set it on the glass and chrome coffee table. His fingers fumbled as he worked the buttons down the front of her dress. "Don't ever stop."

Cool air brushed her skin as the dress fell to the floor. His hands covered her breasts, making her arch with need. Together, they stumbled toward the sofa, shedding the last remnants of clothing. He pulled her down with him, kissing her neck, her shoulder, her breasts.

She couldn't stop touching and kissing his body. Even as grief clogged her throat, she climbed on top of him, running her hands and her mouth over his torso. His body quivered as he pulled her to him for an openmouthed kiss, both of them ravenous. She reached between their bodies, took hold of him. Lifting her hips, she pressed his hardened length to her, desperate to feel him inside her again.

"Alli, no!" He jerked back. "I don't have a condom."

"I don't care," she wept and sank down hard and fast, taking all of him at once. He bucked to unseat her, but only drove himself deeper. She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "Love me one last time. Please love me."

"I do." With a groan, he pulled her mouth to his for a soul-stirring kiss. His hands ran over her body, caressing and encouraging. As the pleasure built, she arched back, losing herself in the feel of him hard and deep inside her. He cupped her breasts, making her moan, before he trailed one hand down her stomach to where they were joined.

The moment he touched her, bright spots of pleasure danced through her. She looked down at him and saw the determination in his eyes as he focused all his attention on pleasing her, even as he gritted his teeth to hold his own climax at bay.

No
, she wanted to moan.
Come with me. Be with me.
Tightening her muscles, she rode him harder, wanting the emotional connection they'd shared.

But it was gone. She'd thrown that closeness back in his face, and now even as he tried to please her body, he didn't trust her not to hurt him again. She didn't know how she knew, she just felt it, felt him holding himself back from her. The loss crashed through her. She wanted all of him. Leaning forward, she kissed the pulse point in his neck the way that made him shiver, and ran her hands over him, desperate to recapture what she'd rejected. She could feel the connection, the mutual joy, so close,
so close
.

She tightened around him, but her efforts sent her over the edge without him.

An instant after she peaked, he pushed her hips up so he could pull out, then he clasped her to him as his body bucked and he released his seed against her stomach.
No!
she wanted to scream, devastated that he gave her physical pleasure but denied her the rest. Denied her the emotional connection.

The loss broke the last of her control, and grief came gushing out of her in a torrent of tears—all the love and anger and fear. She balled a fist and hit his chest. "Why couldn't you be real?"

"God, Alli, I'm so sorry." His arms tightened around her and he rocked her back and forth. "I'm so goddamned sorry."

He held her like that as she cried, held her until her throat ached and her eyelids felt like sandpaper, until everything inside her felt hollowed out. When she finally subsided, she couldn't bring herself to look at him. She felt too exposed to face anyone, even herself.

A long moment passed in horrifying silence. Finally, he kissed her forehead and shifted out from under her. "Wait here," he whispered hoarsely.

She lay numbly, staring at the sunlight shining with blinding brightness off the white marble floor. By the time her sluggish brain thought about grabbing her clothes and running, it was too late. He came back in the room, walking toward her fully nude, carrying a white washcloth and a towel.

"Thank you," she croaked and reached for the cloth.

He pushed her hand aside and nudged her onto her back so he could wash her stomach and between her thighs. She draped an arm over her eyes for a pretense at privacy.

"Since that isn't exactly the most reliable way to prevent pregnancy, mind if I ask when you had your last period?"

"It ended two days ago."

"Well, we have that in our favor at least." When he finished, he dropped the towel to the floor, but didn't move. "You'll tell me, though, if there's a problem."

"There won't be." Although, suddenly, she almost wished she would get pregnant. She pushed the thought aside as irrational.

"Are you ever going to look at me?"

"No." Her voice sounded as raw as it felt.

"Allison ..." He sighed. "I never lied about how I felt. If you can bring yourself to believe that, maybe we still have a chance."

She squeezed her eyes as they threatened to tear up again. "I don't think we do."

"Because I'm John LeRoche's son? If I could change that, I would go down today and have a blood transfusion. If it helps, I assure you, he's not a part of my life. He's a part of my past."

"It's not just that. It's ... I don't know. I can't trust you." She covered her face with her hands. "You lied to
me."

He rubbed his brow in frustration, searching for some way around the wall she'd put between them. His gaze landed on the canvas bag, and he narrowed his eyes as a thought struck him. "Alli, when did you first read Marguerite's diaries?"

"What?" The unexpected question made her look at him in surprise.

"How old were you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" She sat up and scooted into the corner of the sofa, but she couldn't stand up unless he moved and he wasn't budging. She finally settled for wrapping her arms about her raised knees.

"I think it has a lot to do with the problems we're having," he said, "because you won't let go of the past. I'll admit, Henri was a total bastard. He misled Marguerite right from the beginning. But all that happened a hundred and fifty years ago so I'm having a little trouble understanding why you can't get past it."